


drunk off wine

by magpiesflyinghome



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe: 1910s, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpiesflyinghome/pseuds/magpiesflyinghome
Summary: After the disastrous events of the Yuletide ball of 1912, Richard Tozier intends to fix his mistakes.
Relationships: Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris (mentioned), Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	drunk off wine

Richard rushes towards the giant house, his boots splashing in the small puddles that collected on the stone from the earlier rain. He regrets not taking his horse, as his lungs feel like they are being crushed by one of those large and terrifyingly impressive fabric machines he oversaw in the factory downtown. A carriage had passed him only a short while back, and he watched the young maiden stare at him as he struggled towards the giant country home of his… his… whatever his childhood best friend had become to him. Stanley had never dignified this shift in a relationship with a label, only a change in affection, a change in tone, a change of gaze. The giant gilded metal gate looms over him in a menacing way, taunting him with what had happened, screaming out to him about how much he had fucked up.

He knows that all of this was his fault, that he isn’t going to be able to see this house again for a long time, at least until everything dies down and Patricia stops sending her brothers after him and his business, the women in his textile floors had complained about “shady lookin’ fellows” hanging around and leering at them. He had attempted to lock them out and shoo them away, which only worked for a couple of days before the men returned, their suits obvious as to who they were from. It’s hard to forget that the fiancé of his… whatever the fuck Stanley is to him, is a tailor and runs one of the wealthiest garment brands. It is also hard to forget when the said company also buys from his factory because her father takes to checking the conditions of the machines and the crafty women who work for him, and she tags along and gives him that sickly sweet and sly smile that he always hates. She’s so always full of herself in a way that he despises, Stanley is too good for her, and no matter how many times he begs Stanley never calls off the wedding or the marriage as a whole. It’s frustrating, even before what happened last weekend before she ruined everything.

The gate is open as usual, and he slips through the giant brass door like a practiced criminal, with an air of quietness that never has graced him until this very moment, because he knows he shouldn’t be here. Stanley had made it such as clear with the addition he had tacked onto the letter Patricia had sent to his residence, and Richard is desperate to know if that’s what Stanley really wanted or if it was just him attempting to console Patricia—lying—Richard hopes. Maybe what they had was fake, just Stanley experimenting, playing with Richard and treating his “ailment”, as his mother had once called it, like some game. Richard didn’t want to think of Stanley that way, as a conniving and awful trickster using Richard’s own feelings against him. He knows that Stanley would never, he’s too kind, he’s too good to think less of Richard for what he is and what they do behind closed doors.

Richard continues up the now dirt path towards the giant elaborate house in the middle of the property, ignoring the quick glances he gets from the gardeners and workmen at the edge of the tree line working on the reconstruction of the sports shed. The ground underneath his feet is less stable, the mud now seeping into the leather of his boots and the bottom of his suit pant legs, he cares less about the cleanliness of his clothing and more focused on what he wants to say to Stanley, to hopefully clear the air, to understand where they are going from here.

He shouldn’t be surprised that the front doors are open, their light blue shapes inviting him to enter into the main foyer and find the object of his affections, his Stanley, so that he can finally figure out what they are to each other, what Patricia knows, if they could possibly just run away to a foreign country and never look back, they could live happy lives in a small cottage house near the ocean, being able to be who they are, being able to love openly even if they have to lie a little bit. Richard desperately wants Stanley, desperately wants them to leave, to get out of this Podunk town and find themselves among the stars and dig their feet into sands somewhere else.

He wants lazy mornings where neither of them can keep their eyes open, he wants to leisurely kiss Stanley’s neck while he attempts to cook something in the kitchen, he wants their linked hands as they take a walk on a beach, he wants Stanley’s hair lit up by the sun at sunset and his smile so large it breaks his face in half, he wants what Stanley was going to give Patricia. Richard wants Stanley to own his whole mind, body, and soul, even if it isn’t considered legally binding, even if the church considers them to be abominations. He wants Stanley’s everything, and he has a feeling that he won’t ever get it.

His foot is silent on the nice hardwood, the foundation had not shifted yet even after the long span of time that this house has existed, and Richard thanks it for his silent entrance. He hopes that Patricia had gone to visit family, that she had left his Stanley home alone so that they can talk, that they can figure this out without fear of interruption by an irate fiancé begging for him to stop corrupting her soon-to-be-husband with his _filth_ and _sinful nature_. She’d give him that smile, the satisfied one that tells him she is always ten steps ahead of him, she has what he wants and she will never relent until he is alone and poor, with no Stanley to “keep his bed warm” as if Richard was treating Stanley like one of the loose women who work in the brothels at the outskirts of town. He wished he could scoff in her face, tell her off for even thinking of Stanley in that fashion, that she would believe that somehow Richard had coerced his love to “lower” himself to Richard’s level.

It always made his blood boil when she insisted that Stanley should stop seeing him, to stop destroying his family’s reputation because he was being seen with someone of the “common folk”, with a “plebian”, like Richard is some sort of feral dog that Stanley brought in from the street. He doesn’t know Stanley’s feelings on it, because he avoids the topic of their differing financial statuses like it would make him gravely ill, and Richard doesn’t fully fault him for doing so. He understands how different they are. Richard knows that they will never be equal in the eyes of his family, of his fiancé, of society as a whole. It didn’t make a difference to how much Stanley loved him, though, they had known each other since an eight-year-old Stanley stumbled into the decaying garden outside of Richard’s childhood home. He had seemed lost, he had seemed scared, and Richard saw only a new friend, a person to fight all the scary things in the world for.

He inches through the main foyer towards one of the back hallways, knowing the exact way to reach where Stanley most likely is: the back patio. There was a bath for the birds and a small feeder that hangs from an old nail in one of the painted columns. Stanley sits in one of the wooden chairs, a book in his lap, and his head is resting on the top of the back. Richard gulps, and steps forward, his foot accidentally hitting the soapbox that holds all of the bird feed and random knick-knacks. The sound makes Stanley whip his head around to see who is bothering his peace, and when he sees it’s Richard, his expression turns sour. It sends a shock of pain through Richie’s heart because before all of this mess Stanley’s face lit up in the most wondrous way, his eyes bright and a smile sitting on his lips like it was the only thing that he knew how to do with his mouth.

Stanley stands up, facing Richard, and he can see it: the stress growing, his shoulders tensing and his hands shaking. Richard knows deep down that Stanley would never do anything to hurt him, never physically assault him in the way that Richard sometimes feels like he deserves, but right now the anger that is overtaking his face, furrowing his brows heavily, his eyes turning steely, and the slight grinding of his teeth. His whole body is shaking with rage, Richie knows from experience how heavy Stanley’s emotions can be, sometimes overbearing in a way that there is no way to convey them or explain them in any human tongue.

Richard didn’t know what to expect next from his angry love, and he flinches when Stanley rushes towards him and he shrinks into himself hoping that if Stanley punches him he avoids Richard’s eyes. He doesn’t get punched in the face, he gets dragged out of the room by his bicep, an enraged Stanley pulling him harshly, “You must be mad, showing up like this as if nothing is wrong!” He pushes out the sentence through grit teeth, an unknown brutalness that Richard had never heard from his lover before this very moment.

They are halfway through the foyer when Richard tries to stop them, “We need to talk,” he breathes out. Stanley lets out a laugh that sounded more like bark than anything else. “No, we do not, Richard,” Stanley replies, pulling his hand away from Richard’s bicep and turning to face him. _Richard_ , that formality grated on his nerves, it dissolves any hope that had sat in his heart, because Stanley never calls him Richard. It’s always Richie, or Rich, or dumbass, and multitudes of other pet-names that are shared in private, but never Richard.

Richard was the man that was there when his mother keeled over in the streets, Richard was the man who watched as his father fell apart and unintentionally put himself onto a first-class trip to his demise. Richard was a cold factory tyrant who smoked too much and had a smirk that made everyone around him uncomfortable. Richie was a kind friend who would do anything for Stanley, anything for their friends, Richie was the one who made people laugh, was the one who people trusted with their secrets no matter how much of a blabbermouth he was about other topics. Rich was the lover shrouded in moonlight, a smile that spelled out a future that was beautiful and wonderful and would never exist, not for a hundred years. He was the one who Stanley knew best, with his quiet moments, his expressive eyes, and his tired and feverish nights of insomnia that seemed to never end.

“Yes, we do, Stan, my lo-” he starts, but is interrupted by Stanley, “Don’t you dare call me that, not now, not here, not anyway ever again.” Stanley spits out the words and they hit Richard like hot acid, trying to destroy him, trying to degrade him down to his skeleton. “Please, Stanley, this past week has been tearing me apart, we need to talk, please,” he begs, his voice almost breaking as the tears try to fall from his eyes, “Just grant me this one last request and I will leave, I will never speak a word to you again.” He stares at Stanley, hoping, wishing, wanting, and watching as Stanley’s resolve breaks; because he gives in to his feelings, to what they created and maintained for so many years hidden in secret love letters and longing gazes. Stanley sighs, composing himself once again and walking towards the staircase, and Richard knows where they are going: to Stanley’s office.

Many memories come to mind when he thinks of Stanley’s office, most of them intimate, but some being funny, and some of them sad. He knows that right now it’s detrimental that he find a way to change this situation, to get Stanley to understand that whatever he thinks he has with Patricia isn’t ever going to be as real as them. Nothing will ever be able to replace them, to replace the respect they share, the comradery, the connection, the _love_. When they are apart for short spans of time Richard feels lost, and late at night Stanley had confessed to the same hollow feeling that accompanies their distance, they both knew how much they needed each other.

There is never going to be anyone else for them, and they both know that they both feel that in their bones, but Stanley feels such pressure to do his parent's wishes, to follow their beck and call. It disgusts him how much they treat Stanley like a dog, ignoring his feelings and ordering him around. Richard despises Andrea and Donald Uris because they use Stanley, neglect him, and act like that is a gift. They act like just their presence is holy, and Richard fucking despises every shred of their existence.

They reach the oak door, the dark wood reflecting the sun back towards them, illuminating Stanley’s face for a short moment. He pulls the small key from his pocket, inserting it into the lock and turning it, the click silently responding. Stanley pulls the small metal object from the door and places it back into his pocket, twisting the knob and entering the room. Richard follows after shortly and hears the satisfying noise of Stanley locking the door behind him. He almost smiles in relief, for the fact that this conversation would only be kept between them, no manipulation from Patricia, no irritating comments from either of the Uris’. It can just be them, the way it should be.

Stanley steps forward, leaning against his giant mahogany desk, facing Richard now. His expression still holds bitterness, holds some of his anger, but it’s softened now. No appearances need to be held, not in Stanley’s private office. He crosses his arms over his light blue vest, for some reason the waistcoat had been absent and looks up at Richard. Stanley’s eyes aren’t as sharp, they’ve softened only a small degree but Richard is starting to see his Stanley again. “Speak,” his love says, voice slightly shaky.

“My dearest, I apologize for my actions, for wishing to indulge in a moment of passion and affection with my kindred and most beloved in a room far away from any human, I apologize that I was foolishly giddy at the fact we,” he pauses, “could be free for only a moment. I did not wish for this, I did not hope for this, I only wanted to be with you,” he steps forward towards Stanley. Stanley’s brows furrow for a moment, he didn’t want them to be close, but Richard can see that unease fading quickly because they know each other, they find comfort in each other.

He lifts his hand and places it lightly on Stanley’s left cheek, tilting his head slightly so that he could hold his gaze. Stanley’s face drops, his eyebrows relaxing, and the steel disappearing. “Use any excuse, any lie you can muster, to hide, to deny our clear relationships all you wish, but it can never change the feelings, never change how much I love you,” Richard whispers, his right hand placing itself of Stanley’s left shoulder.

He doesn’t know the exact moment that everything in Stanley’s mind clicks when he realizes that what they have is so much more important than anything he could ever have with someone else, but before he can think about it Stanley grips his waist and pulls him into a kiss. The surprise fades quickly as he melts into Stanley, looping his right arm around Stanley’s neck, and Richard had thought he had forgotten what this felt like. To kiss his Stanley, to forget what it was like to be a separate human being. Stanley’s hands slip up the back of his vest and find purchase on his shoulder blades. Stanley is the one to pull away, only inching their faces away from each other, the intoxicating thrumming of their hearts beating faster and faster, the room feeling hotter and their breaths heaving.

“I- I- I must apologize for my behavior as well, immortal beloved, my actions for the past week have been unacceptable. I-I was frustrated, I was manipulated. They told me you would never love me, not in the way our god would recognize, and I shouldn’t have believed it but I was so scared, terribly frightened when it was you who was hurting. I apologize, I never should have taken it all out on you, my sweet, please forgive me.” Stanley’s voice is sweet, any anger had dissipated the moment the words left his mouth, as they at each other and Stanley begs him for forgiveness when Richard didn’t even need to think about it, he would forgive Stanley for a thousand mistakes, because Stanley would do the same for him.

“My beloved, I don’t think this should be said, but to ease those disastrous and cruel thoughts that bounce around in that beautiful brain of yours.” Richard wipes a tear that had started to fall down Stanley’s cheek. “You didn’t need to say a word and I forgave you, I forgive you, and I always will. You are the best thing to ever happen to me, the only person I wish to spend the rest of my days with is you, the only man I have ever let into my utmost secrets, my intimate and distressing moments. No other has ever come as close to killing me with happiness and making my heart beat out of my chest in worry than you, my love.” Stanley lets out a snort, tears still sliding down his cheeks, and he smiles, a grin that makes his top lip disappear, his teeth shining out at him, “You’ll always be my scarecrow.” Richie beams back at him, “And you’ll always be my Dorothy.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to a poem by Tyler Kent White. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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